


Keep you here, forever

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Execution, F/M, R plus L equals J, fulfilling a prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Jon and Sansa have a meeting to discuss the possibility of of their engagement.  When Littlefinger learns of their plans, they must act quickly.





	1. Part One

Jon rubbed his temples. He was tired of the third round of the same argument.

“Sansa, I truly do not understand your objection to this appointment. The Cerwyns have always been appointed the heads of siege craft. Their lands have the best timber,” he said for the third time.

Sansa bristled. “I don’t think they’ve proven themselves trustworthy,” she also said for the third time.

“It’s siege craft, it’s not exactly Master of Coin or Master of Law. It’s an entirely suitable appointment for the house. It doesn’t require trust, it requires timber, which they have,” he concluded.

“Fine, don’t listen to me,” she snapped.

“No Sansa, I have listened to you, several times, when you’ve pointed out things I have overlooked. But this protest is baseless,” he stated. He couldn’t understand why his cousin, normally so shrewd in her understanding of these positions, could not see the necessity of this appointment. 

“I’ve…heard things,” Sansa struggled.

“What things?” Jon asked.

“That you plan to wed me to Lord Cerwyn,” Sansa finally stated. 

Jon was stunned. He stared speechless at Sansa.

“You don’t deny it,” she said, emboldened.

“Deny it? Sansa it’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard. What would ever give you that idea?” he demanded.

“Whispers around the castle,” she said, looking away.

A realization came to Jon. He darkened immediately.

“You mean Lord Baelish.”

“Perhaps,” Sansa did not deny.

“Where else would you hear such a baseless rumor, that has no other intent than driving a wedge between us? Sansa, the man has proven time and time again that he can’t be trusted, and yet you continue to listen to him? Why?” Jon questioned, anger creeping into his voice.

Sansa wanted to scream. Why did she still listen to Baelish? Because her insides were scarred and twisted, and she didn’t know who to trust anymore. Because her toxic relationship with Petyr was more comfortable to her than Jon’s kindness. Because the barbed wires of Petyr’s lust were more familiar than gentle touch of Jon’s love.

“I don’t know,” was all she could manage. “Is there any truth to it? Do you plan to wed me to Lord Cerwyn? Or anyone else?” she asked, her fears tumbling out of her.  
Jon shook his head. “I’m not planning to marry you to anyone. And it’s not for lack of requests,” he said.

Sansa’s stomach clenched. She feared that there was at least some truth to Petyr’s rumor, and that lords were beginning to inquire about their King’s intentions for Sansa. “You found the matches unacceptable?” she suggested.

“I wouldn’t marry you off without your consent, Sansa. You’ve earned more than that. But…my reasons aren’t entirely selfless either,” he admitted.

“Oh?” was all she could manage.

“No. I need you here. At Winterfell. With me,” Jon said quietly, looking down, as if he was ashamed to admit it.

“Oh.”

“I suppose I have to take your wishes into account as well. I can’t keep you here with me forever. Is there some lord you desire?” Jon asked, dreading her answer.

“No. There’s no lord I desire,” Sansa answered immediately.

Jon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Very well then, that settles the matter,” he stated. “I hope this means that I can appoint the Cerwyns head of siege craft?”

“Of course,” Sansa said. They began to gather the various papers from their meeting. They both had a long day ahead of them.

Sansa was at the door when she stopped and turned to Jon.

“Jon?” 

“Yes?” he said not looking up from a map he was examining.

“You could keep me here,” she suggested.

“What, as my hand?” he laughed. 

“No, as your wife,” she said.

Jon looked up, not believing what she’d said. 

“You would have me as a husband? The bastard boy you thought of as a brother your whole childhood?” Jon asked, amused at the very idea.

“A great deal has changed since our childhood.”

He stood, silent, staring at her. The boldness of what Sansa had done began to set in with her.

“Forgive me, your grace, I shouldn’t have presumed. I’ll take my leave— ” she turned to go.

“Sansa?”

She stopped and looked back at him.

“Join me for dinner tonight in my chamber. We’ll discuss it then.”


	2. Part Two

Sansa stood in front of Jon’s door, nervously smoothing her skirts. This was silly. She’d had private dinners with Jon a hundred times before. There was no reason to be nervous. Except for the fact that the purpose of the dinner was to discuss the possibility of their engagement. 

She didn’t have time to think as the servants left the chamber and Jon escorted her into the room.

She couldn’t help but notice the table. All of the courses had been laid out, including dessert—lemoncakes.

“I hope you don’t mind. I had the kitchen prepare the entire meal—so we won’t be interrupted,” he said, pulling out Sansa’s chair.

“Of course,” Sansa said, sitting.

For as nervous as she’d been, it quickly evaporated, as they began their usual, comfortable discussions of the business of the day. They ate and sipped wine while they gossiped about lord and smallfolk alike, and argued over the priority of the castle repairs.

“I finally told Lord Cerwyn about his appointment,” Jon said, letting his annoyance leak into his voice.

“I’m sure he was most pleased,” Sansa said, giving a sly smile.

“He certainly was. Although I think he had begun to grow impatient,” Jon said, arching an eyebrow at her.

“A wise lord is ready to serve at his king’s pleasure, and not a moment sooner,” she chided.

“And what news from Lord Littlefinger? Hmm? I’m giving ten virgin girls to the giants? I’m feeding orphans to my direwolf?” Jon spat out sarcastically.

“Ten?” Sansa scoffed. “I heard it was a hundred virgin girls, all from great houses. And you’re not feeding the orphans to your direwolf, you’re giving them directly to the Others,” she finished with a sip of her wine.

“Ah yes, much more likely,” Jon said, smiling only for an instant, before his mood darkened again. “We joke, but he’s dangerous Sansa. Just as dangerous as anything outside of our walls. I will take his head, if it comes to it.”

Sansa shivered. “I fear that he’s too well connected to those with power,” she said. The little that she knew of Petyr’s dealings frightened her, what she did not know, terrified her.

“It would not be the first time I had to execute a man who was well connected,” Jon stated. 

“Who?” she questioned. Sansa did not doubt Jon’s bravery in dolling out justice to wildings and the rough sort of men of the Night’s Watch, but she doubted he’d ever had to face the twisted web of dealing with those with wealth and power.

“Janos Slynt,” Jon said the name like a curse.

“You executed Janos Slynt? You never told me that,” Sansa gasped.

“I didn’t see a reason,” he said, sipping his wine.

Sansa took her napkin and dabbed the corner of her eyes. She could remember the frog faced man, gloating in court. She could still remember his foul face as he threw down her father to be executed.

“I’m sorry, Sansa, I didn’t mean to disturb you with talk of executions,” he said, reaching over to hold her hand. She held his hand tightly in return.

“Did you know about him?” Sansa said, blinking away tears.

“I knew he was a coward and an oathbreaker, that’s all I needed to know,” Jon said, stroking her hand with his thumb.

“The Gold Cloaks betrayed Father, Slynt threw him down for the executioner’s block,” Sansa said.

Jon let out an angry hiss. He pulled his hands away from Sansa and ran them through his hair. “Damnit,” he cursed. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Sansa said, collecting herself. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad I didn’t know it at the time, I would have worried it influenced my decision. But I’m glad I know now,” he said, squeezing her hand again.

They returned to their meal, each lost in their own thoughts. 

“We still haven’t discussed the very reason for this lovely meal,” Sansa said after some time.

“Of course,” Jon said. He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Do you think it wise? For us to wed?” he asked.

She’d given the subject careful though. “You’re the King in the North. I’m the Lady of Winterfell. We’re cousins. I think it’s wise to consolidate our lines,” she concluded.

“Yes, I know it makes sense, and I think we rule together very well,” Jon admitted.

Sansa sensed his hesitation. “But…?” she prodded.

For want of an answer, Jon gestured towards his bed. A great oak structure, piled with furs. 

“We grew up as siblings, Sansa, do you think we’d be able to share a bed?” Jon asked, not entirely certain of the answer himself.

“It would certainly take some getting used to, but perhaps in time,” she suggested.

“That’s a big perhaps,” he laughed, attempting to bring some levity to the discussion. “This isn’t what you deserve, Sansa. You shouldn’t have to sit and discuss a marriage alliance with your cousin. You should have a story like one of those songs you loved as a girl,” he said.

“I’ve learned that those songs are silly. I’ve learned that the golden prince is often the villain, and the bastard boy is sometimes the hero,” she said.

“I’m no hero,” Jon dismissed. 

“You are to me,” she said.

Jon blushed. He wanted to let go of his fears but he wasn’t sure how. “I confess I’ve been thinking of this for sometime. But what if we say the words to each other, and we find that we aren’t able to do what needs to be done to make an heir?” he finally voiced his biggest concern.

Sansa looked at Jon. The boy who had been her brother had become the man who was her King. He was brave, and gentle, and strong. She would be his Queen. But could she give him princes? Could she desire him? 

“I think there is only one way to know for certain,” she said, reaching across and taking his hand yet again.

He did not miss her meaning. 

Jon leaned forward to close the distance. He placed his hand on Sansa’s face and kissed her gently. It was strange for both of them. They knew each other so well. They knew the other’s faces and moods, but they did not know the other’s lips. They slowly, cautiously kissed. It was light and gentle. Then caution began to slip away. Jon placed his other hand on Sansa’s face. He tilted his head to better stroke her lips. Sansa’s heart began to pound. She steadied herself by placing her hand on Jon’s knee. He took that for encouragement and began to stroke her lips with his tongue. 

Sansa felt a warm pressure in her tummy. She’d never felt it before, but she liked it. Jon’s tongue was still stroking her lips. She opened her mouth and he kept stroking. Hadn’t he just been afraid that they would fail at passion? Had he wanted this the whole time? The thought emboldened her and she placed her hand on his chest. 

The little restraint Jon had been exercising dissolved and Jon pulled Sansa into his lap.

“Is this alright, sweet girl?” Jon asked as he kissed her neck. 

“Yes,” was all she could manage as his hands crept along her body.

She grabbed his hair and kissed his ears in a way that made him groan. She grinded into his lap, struggling to create friction for them through the several layers of clothes. He was less patient and simply put his hand under her skirts and smallclothes. His fingers found her perfectly wet. She gasped. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispered stroking her. “We won’t have a problem producing heirs, will we?” he asked, biting her collar bone.

“Not at all,” she moaned as she struggled to get closer to his fingers.

They tore at each other for some time, each wanting more. Jon’s mind ran with a hundred thoughts. He wanted Sansa’s breasts, her belly, her legs, all of it. He also realized he could not take everything he wanted on this night. He began to pull back, sliding his hand away from her skirts, and changing his kisses to light brushes. 

“You’re stopping,” she whined. 

“Just for now,” he assured her. To tantalize her even more, he took his fingers, wet from her sex, and licked them clean. “You taste delicious,” he whispered. 

She wiggled in his lap. “When can I see you again?”

“Tomorrow night,” he said.

“Promise?” she asked.

“By the old gods and the new,” he smiled at her. 

They kissed once more. “Let me walk you back to your room,” Jon said. 

“No, we don’t want servants talking, any more than I’m sure they already will,” she said, pulling herself away from him. 

He frowned. “As you wish, my lady.”

She stood by the door, for one last look at him. His hair a mess, his eyes shining, his lips bruised. She couldn’t wait for more of him looking like that. She would have that every night from now on. 

He noticed her amusement. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to seize her, and tickle her, and kiss her, and whisper into her ear, and make love to her for as long as she would have him. He wanted to keep her in his room, forever. Instead, he wished her goodnight.

“Good night, sweet girl.”

“Good night, my love.”


	3. Part Three

Sansa attempted to listen as Lord Manderly droned on and on about…something. It was probably the mint. He was always discussing the need for a mint.

Jon sat at the head of the table, Sansa to his right. The rest of the places were occupied by the Lords Manderly, Umber, Glover, Cerwyn, and the Ladies Mormont and Dustin. The Lords of the Vale were represented as well, as well as the ever present Lord Baelish.

Normally Sansa paid careful attention to these meetings, taking meticulous notes. Today, she could not concentrate. She could not think of anything beside last night. She could not stop thinking about Jon kissing her. She wondered if she should feel guilty. How quickly she’d let Jon pull her to his lap, how quickly she moaned as his tongue crossed her skin. She decided that the pleasures allowed to her in this world were few and far between, and if they came at the hands of her sweet cousin, that was fine by her.

She happened to glance at Jon and noticed that he was looking at her. They both blushed and looked down. Sansa worried, had they sat too close? Was it obvious to their councilors that something had changed between them? She glanced around the table. All of the lords and ladies seemed to be listening to Manderly’s lecture with the same bored expression. Except for one.

She angrily picked up her quill and resumed writing, determined to avoid Petyr’s gaze. Her letters came out harsh and ink stuttered across the page. It made her even angrier at his unwelcomed stare. She thought about what Jon had said last night. He’s dangerous. Sansa knew better than anyone how dangerous he was. Sansa would never forget the scream fading away as her Aunt Lysa had fallen from the moon door at Petyr’s hands.

Jon spoke, shaking Sansa’ from her terrible thoughts. “Thank you Lord Manderly for these excellent ideas, I’ll be sure to take them into consideration,” he said genially.

Other lords made various reports, and Sansa forced herself to focus on their words, rather than her thoughts both delicious and cruel. 

The topic shifted yet again, to how to redistribute the Bolton lands. For the first time, Lady Dustin brought up an objection. They discussed it at length before Jon finally became frustrated. 

“My lady, I’m afraid I don’t understand your objection. You yourself suggested much of this redistribution,” Jon said.

“A great deal of this land is returning to your dominion, rather than your loyal bannermen,” the stern woman began, “Perhaps I feel our King has taken too much for himself since he learned that he’s a Targaryen. They had that tendency. And not just in lands.”

“I have taken land for the woods and stone that will be needed to fortify Winterfell’s defenses. I’m not going to entertain anything else you might be suggesting,” Jon said with ice in his voice.

There was a dead silence as every lord starred between Jon and Barbrey. Sansa’s stomach did a backflip. _She knows._ It wasn’t just Sansa’s paranoia. The smirk on Baelish’s face told her everything she needed to know. 

“Is there anything else, Lady Dustin?” Jon asked, not moving his gaze. 

“No, your Grace,” she stated.

“Very well then. I think it best we adjourn. Thank you, my—”

“If it please your Grace, I have something I’d like to address with our lords and ladies,” Sansa rushed out. 

Jon looked surprised but said “Of course, Lady Stark.”

“I know the matter of succession has long since been on everyone’s mind. There’s never before been an instance when the King of the North and House Stark have been separate in any way. Then when Lord Reed told us of the King’s true parentage, it seemed even more unclear as how to move forward. Our histories certainly teach us how dangerous it is when there are two lines of a great house. However, last night, at a meeting that went late into the evening,” Sansa paused, placing her hand on Jon’s forearm. She looked directly at Baelish, before continuing, “The solution came to my cousin, our King, in his great wisdom. We thought to wait to share the happy news, but my heart is so glad I don’t think I can keep from sharing it with our most beloved advisors. Your Grace?”

Jon’s eyes had gone huge, his mouth hung open. He thought that Sansa had gone mad. Yet, there was nothing he could do in this moment except go along with it. He placed his hand over Sansa’s.

“My cousin and I will rejoin the two branches of House Stark. We will wed,” he announced. 

A cheer went up around the table. The Lords and Ladies rushed to them with embraces and congratulations. “A fine match indeed!” Lord Manderly proclaimed, slapping his belly.

Only Lord Baelish sat, silent.

There was much cheering and discussion of the wedding. Their councilors suggested songs and singers, and promised food and drink. Lord Manderly was the last to leave them, and walked them back to Jon’s chamber, raving about the fresh seafood he would have sent from White Harbor. 

As soon as Jon closed the door behind them, he turned to Sansa. “Have you gone completely mad?” he demanded. 

“Jon, listen to me, you were right. Baelish is too dangerous. He knows. He knows about our meeting last night,” Sansa said, on the brink of panic.

“What? How?” Jon asked, dumbfounded. 

“Whether it’s the cook who made the lemoncakes, or the handmaiden who told him how late I got back to my chamber, he has our own servants informing on us. I had to tell them about the marriage before he could poison any one else,” Sansa rushed out, dreading what else he might have learned. 

Jon sat down and put his head in his hands. “Lady Dustin’s comment about Targaryens taking what they want…he’s already started turning people against us,” he realized.

“Yes, he has,” Sansa sat across from him and pulled his hands to her. “We have to stop him, my love. He will destroy us and all that we hold dear.”

“Sansa, you know that I would gladly hand you his head. But I need some sort of reason,” he said. 

“Well,” she began, “He murdered my Aunt Lysa, Jon Arryn’s widow and the Lady of the Vale.”

*******

The trial was short. Sansa had testified that she did not feel safe telling the truth until she had the protection of the King. Jon had wisely made Nestor Royce one of the three judges. It had not taken long before others came forward with a variety of accusations, and it was unclear how many crimes exactly Baelish was being tried for. Among the various confessions, it became clear: Baelish had worked with Slynt and others to betray Lord Stark. An angry roar went through the hall as every Northern Lord called for his head. Ultimately, he was found guilty of murder and treason, and sentenced to death. 

The night before the execution, Sansa went to his cell. Without his fine clothes, she could see the truth: he was a sad, small man. For a moment, she almost felt pity for him. Then he spoke. 

“Sansa, please, have mercy. Send me to the Wall, anything. You have to know, that everything I have ever done, I have done because I love you,” he pleaded.

“Does that include betraying my father?” she asked, before she turned and ran, not wanting him to see her tears.

The next morning was gray. The lords and ladies were assembled. She had prayed for this day, wanted this day, to finally be free from Littlefinger’s grasp. Her hero would once again take the villain’s head for her, as he had taken Lord Slynt’s. Why then did she feel a tug in her stomach, a voice telling her that this was wrong. 

“Fetch me a block,” Jon called to his squire. Baelish was thrown down, his hands bound behind him, openly weeping. Jon unsheathed his sword. She saw the flash of Valyrian steel, and remembered another sword. Her father’s sword. It had been divided in two, because of Petyr Baelish’s machinations. She remembered her father’s words. Our way is the old way. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Sansa had passed the sentence by revealing Lysa’s murder. It had been her house that had been destroyed.

Jon was reciting the words as Petyr begged for his life. 

“Jon, wait, this isn’t right,” Sansa called out. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Petyr sobbed. “Thank you Sansa, thank you,” he cried.

“I should be the one to swing the sword,” she said, although her voice was shaking. Jon regarded her for a moment, and then nodded. 

“Do you know how to use this?” Jon asked, holding the sword out to her.

“No,” she admitted. Jon placed the sword in her hands. He arranged her hands in the proper position. 

“The sword will go where your eyes do,” he said quietly, so that only they could hear. “You can do this, Sansa.”

Baelish was still blubbering from the block. “Sansa, please, don’t.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Lord Baelish. Unlike my beloved I’m not very skilled with a sword. This will likely be more painful than a typical execution, but then, you are not a typical man. Do you have any final words?” she stated, feeling the weight of the sword in her hands. It was not as heavy as she might have thought, the Valyrian steel being lighter than typical steel, but twice as sharp.

“I…only….loved you,” he cried, one last time. 

“Yes, and I love Jon,” she stated. She remembered Jon’s words and kept her eyes on Petyr’s neck. She swung the sword the best she could, and despite her lack of skill, it seemed the sword knew it’s task. The steel slashed through the air and came down on his neck. It was not enough to separate the head from the shoulders, but it was enough to kill him. She swung the sword again, the blood on the blade flying through the air. Another hack, and it came off. It was not a smooth cut, but it was done. She handed the sword to Jon’s squire, and turned to the castle.

Jon found her in her chamber, sobbing. When she swung the sword a second time, blood had splattered on her dress and skin. She was trying to blot it out and only spreading the blood on the delicate fabric. Jon stopped her and instead quietly undressed her. He sat her on the bed. He poured water into a basin and rinsed her hands. “You did it, Sansa. It’s over now. It’s all over,” he said, kissing the top of her head. She nodded. “Why don’t you lay down and I’ll come check on you in a little while?” he suggested pulling the furs over her. 

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, grabbing his hand. 

“Of course.” He undressed and climbed in next to her. 

He pulled her close and she pressed her face into his neck. 

“I know you can’t stay here all day,” she said, in a poor attempt at lightening the somber mood.

He held her tightly, kissed her again, and said “Yes I can.”


End file.
